


goodbye (hello)

by ThirtySixSaveFiles



Category: Persona 5
Genre: M/M, poor parenting on the part of the Kurusu family, post-game fic, unapologetic get-akira-back-to-tokyo fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-05
Updated: 2018-08-05
Packaged: 2019-06-22 11:10:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15580656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThirtySixSaveFiles/pseuds/ThirtySixSaveFiles
Summary: Ryuji had promised to visit Akira in his hometown; a quiet seaside village has to be better than Tokyo in the summer heat, right?Right?





	goodbye (hello)

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for a kiss meme prompt on tumblr, for an Anon who requested Akira/Ryuji and "[a kiss] in grief." This was meant to be a ~500 word fill - it ended up being somewhat more than that.

When Ryuji steps off the train in a quiet little seaside town smaller than Shibuya, his first thought is that he’s seeing a ghost.

Then Akira’s face breaks into a smile, and he’s pulling Ryuji into a fierce hug right there on the platform before Ryuji even has a chance to drop his bag. Akira’s hands dig into the back of Ryuji’s jacket and his face presses into Ryuji’s shoulder; Ryuji lets his bag slide down his arm and _thunk_ on the ground so he can return the favor.

“Whoa, hi buddy,” Ryuji says, wrapping his arms around Akira’s back. “I missed you too, man.”

Akira shudders against him for a second, and Ryuji frowns.

Then Akira’s pulling back, putting his hands on Ryuji’s shoulders. His face looks different without the glasses, of course, but there’s still something about his expression that strikes an uneasy chord in Ryuji’s stomach.

“It’s good to see you,” Akira says, and there’s a note of relief in there that Ryuji is almost 100% certain that he’s not meant to hear.

“Yeah,” he says slowly, then rallies. “I told you I was coming, didn’t I? Can’t back out on a promise like that.”

Akira hums but he doesn’t answer, and the uneasiness in Ryuji’s gut stirs again.

“Come on,” Akira says, stooping to scoop up Ryuji’s bag and shrug it over his shoulder. “The house is this way.” He turns to lead Ryuji out of the station, and it’s easy, so easy to fall in step with him, like they’re back on the streets of Yongen-Jaya, like it hasn’t been five long months since Akira left Tokyo.

The air smells of salt as they leave the station, and Ryuji looks around, eager to see what kind of place Akira calls home. The town is small - much smaller than anywhere Ryuji’s ever been, and it’s - quiet, in a way that he’s not used to after life in the city. He can hear individual cars as they pass. He can hear seagulls. It’s not natural.

Speaking of unnatural -

“Where’s the fuzzball?” he says, nudging Akira with his elbow. “Don’t tell me you two broke up already.”

Akira huffs a laugh, but it’s smaller than Ryuji expects. “My parents - weren’t exactly thrilled that I brought a cat back with me. They were even _less_ thrilled when word got out that I was carrying him everywhere. So - Mona stays at home, most days.”

Huh. That’s - not what he expected. If it’s strange to see Akira here, walking down the streets lined with houses rather than skyscrapers, it’s even stranger to see him without Morgana popping up over his shoulder.

“Eh.” Ryuji rolls his shoulders. “He probably likes it, right? Sleeping all day in the sun.”

Akira puts his hands in his pockets. “Sure.”

That _definitely_ doesn’t sound like agreement, but Akira is already turning a corner. The streets here are far emptier than Ryuji is used to, but he still doesn’t manage to avoid bumping into someone coming around in the opposite direction.

“Oh hey, man, sorry,” Ryuji starts, then catches sight of Akira’s face, turned back to watch them. It’s neutral and polite, just as it had been when he’d started at Shujin, and that sets off all sort of alarm bells.

The guy - about their age, it looks like - glances at Akira and then back at Ryuji. His lip curls and he adjusts his jacket, continuing on his way without a word.

That’s. That’s _weird_.

“Uh. Was it something I said?” Ryuji says, taking the few steps to come abreast with Akira again.

“No,” Akira says, but he doesn’t elaborate.

“Okay. Sure. I mean, I did apologize; he could have said something, even to a stranger -”

“He’s not a stranger,” Akira says, turning and starting back up the street. “I’ve known Yamamoto-kun since elementary school.”

That’s. That’s _weirder_ , but Akira is leaving him behind, and Ryuji jogs to catch up.

The walk after that isn’t far - the town’s not that big - and before long Akira is turning up a walkway to a _much_ more impressive house than Ryuji had been prepared for.

“Whoah,” Ryuji says, and Akira turns to look at him. “You live _here_?”

Akira turns back, looking the house up and down.

“Yeah,” he says, and he doesn’t sound thrilled about it.

The unease curls in Ryuji’s stomach, restless, but before he can say anything more Akira is continuing up the walkway.

“Mother will be home. She’ll - we should say hello.”

“Oh, yeah,” Ryuji says, coming up the steps behind him. “Do you think she’ll like me? Do I look okay?” He runs a hand through his hair. He’d taken a nap on the train; hopefully he doesn’t look like it.

“You look great,” Akira says over his shoulder, opening the front door, and Ryuji grins before he realizes that Akira didn’t answer the first question.

The Kurusu household is just as impressive on the inside as the out, and Ryuji suppresses the urge to whistle as he removes his shoes. The furnishings are modern, all steel and glass and black leather; it wouldn’t be out of place in the fashionable parts of Tokyo. It looks about as far removed from Leblanc as anything Ryuji can imagine, and it’s strange to imagine Akira actually living here.

A well-dressed middle-aged woman - Mrs. Kurusu, presumably - sweeps through from an interior room, pausing when she sees them.

“Ah. Akira. Your father will be late this evening,” she says. “Dinner’s waiting in the kitchen. Don’t wait up for us.” She seems to notice Ryuji for the first time and blinks as if taken aback. “And who is this?”

“This is Ryuji Sakamoto, mother,” Akira says evenly, and his face when Ryuji glances over is as blank as Ryuji has ever seen it. “He’s visiting from Tokyo. I put it on the calendar weeks ago,” he says when she just stares at him.

“Ah. Of course,” she says, and if she actually remembers Ryuji will eat his shoe. “Well. Welcome.”

“Thank you for having me,” he says, bowing, because whatever else she is she _is_ Akira’s mother, and anyway _his_ mother hadn’t raised a complete heathen.

“Of course,” she says again, and it doesn’t sound any more sincere than the first time. The ring of a phone drifts in from deeper in the house, and she looks relieved. “Ah. If you’ll excuse me,” she says, and disappears back down the hall.

Ryuji bites his tongue on all the things he wants to say.

Akira blows out a breath, and his shoulders slump.

“That could have gone worse,” he says, and if this was _good_ Ryuji would hate to see what _worse_ looks like.

“Uh. Sure,” he says. Akira shrugs uncomfortably, then starts up the stairs to the second floor. Ryuji follows.

“No matter what he says, Mona will be glad to see you,” Akira says as they climb the stairs. “I am too. I - I’m really glad you came,” he says in a rush. “Sorry about my mom’s - everything.”

“Hey, no worries, man,” Ryuji says as they reach the top and Akira pushes open the first door on the left. “I’m -”

The rest of the sentence flies clear out of his head as he steps into the room behind Akira. It’s - for a moment he has a vision of Akira’s room at Leblanc overlaid on this one, because the _only_ decorations are the ones Ryuji remembers from Tokyo. He recognizes an arrow from the Meiji shrine and a commemorative miniature swan boat; a line of plush prizes from the arcade have been arranged carefully on the bookshelves, and sitting front and center is a plastic ramen bowl Ryuji recognizes very well. He hadn’t known Akira had brought it with him.

Underneath all of that, though, the rest of the room is - the only word Ryuji can think of is _sterile_.

Morgana is curled up asleep on the bed, on top of a coverlet in a mild, inoffensive shade of blue that reminds Ryuji of hotels and hospitals. The top of the dresser is completely bare, no trophies or pictures or even any of the bits and pieces of everyday living, and the desk is so neatly organized it looks like it was plucked directly out of a catalog. The walls are empty except for a single print hanging over the bed; a seascape, generic and bland and nothing Akira would ever pick out for himself.

Akira sets Ryuji’s bag down at the foot of his bed skritches Morgana’s ears. Morgana stretches and yawns, blinking as he catches sight of Ryuji.

“Oh, hey blondie,” as if Ryuji has come over after school instead of traveled hours by train. “I see you made it.”

“Don’t overwhelm me with welcome, here,” Ryuji says, although it’s a relief to see him, to know that Akira’s not alone in this - this place. He comes over to give Morgana his own ear skritching, and Morgana pushes his head into his hand, purring.

“Did, uh. Did your - did your parents like, move, or something? While you were gone?” Ryuji is trying for casual but he’s not sure he’s making it; it would be kind of shitty but it’s the best explanation he can come up with for why there’s nothing _personal_  in here that’s more than a year old.

When he looks up Akira is looking around the room, pressing his lips together. “Or something,” he says finally.

That’s - no kind of answer at all, but Akira doesn’t look like he wants to talk about it and Ryuji is, occasionally, capable of recognizing when someone’s having a _moment_ so he holds his tongue.

Then Akira shakes himself. “You must be hungry. Let’s go eat.”

Dinner is - better. Ryuji is starving, and it’s just the three of them in the biggest kitchen Ryuji’s ever seen. It’s almost like old times, Ryuji stuffing his face as fast as he can while Akira feeds Morgana the best parts of his own dinner. Ryuji loads up Akira’s place with more while he’s not looking - he has to eat _something_ , he can’t give it all to Morgana - and when Akira laughs, bright and genuine, Ryuji grins.

Akira’s parents don’t make an appearance, which Ryuji is starting to think is for the best.

Dishes cleaned and put away, they retreat back up to Akira’s room, and it might be Ryuji’s imagination but he thinks Akira’s shoulders relax as he shuts the door behind them.

“There’s a futon in the closet,” he says, crossing the room. “Hold on a minute and I’ll get it.” He opens the door, and there is indeed a rolled-up futon propped in the corner, but it’s what’s stacked next to it that catches Ryuji’s attention.

_Akira - books. Akira - clothes. Akira - misc. Akira - misc. Akira - misc._ The boxes stack up in neat columns, four and five high, each with their own neat label. After a year spent doing homework with the guy, Ryuji recognizes Akira’s handwriting. This isn’t it.

“Akira.” Ryuji swallows as Akira turns to look at him, futon in his hands. “Is that - did you pack those?”

Akira looks back in the closet, at the boxed-up contents of his life. “No,” he says quietly.

The unease that has dogged Ryuji since the station blooms into full blown _anger_.

“Akira,” he says evenly. “What happened to your room?”

Akira closes the closet door. He props the futon against it, turning to sit on the edge of his bed, elbows propped on his knees and hands folded in front of his face. Morgana hops up next to him, rubbing his head against Akira’s arm.

“You can tell me, you know. I won’t judge or nothin’.” Ryuji pulls the desk chair out and spins it around until he can sit astride it, arms folded across the back. “Unless you’re about to tell me those boxes are full of mascot posters, or something - then I might judge a _little_.”

Akira laughs, but he sounds subdued, like he has this whole visit. “I just.” He rubs Morgana’s head absently. “These walls used to be blue, you know.”

Ryuji’s gaze flicks to the walls. They’re an off-shade of white.

Akira stops, and Ryuji rests his chin on his arms. Patience is not his strong suit, but for Akira he can try. He glances back at the closet door. One of the boxes had been marked _Akira - books_. Ryuji had known that Akira liked to read, but there hadn’t been any books in Akira’s room at Leblanc, apart from the occasional volume from the school library. He hadn’t brought any with him. Ryuji remembers the solitary box marked with Akira’s name on a low shelf in the attic; at the time, he’d thought that maybe Akira just didn’t collect a lot of belongings. Some people didn’t.

Now, though, thinking of the neat stacks of boxes marked _pictures_ and _clothes_ and _misc,_ at the evidence of a _life_ neatly boxed and stored away - now, Ryuji wonders if one box is all Akira had been _allowed_.

“I just,” Akira says again, and Ryuji looks back at him. “I hate it here _so much_ ,” he says all in a rush, low and fast like he expects someone besides Ryuji to hear.

Ryuji glances at the closed door. If this is what Akira’s been living with - cool politeness or plain absence - it’s no wonder he’d looked the way he had at the station. Ryuji hates, _hates_ that when he’d first arrived he’d thought he was seeing the Akira from a year ago: closed off and silent, practically a ghost in his own life. Ryuji doesn’t understand how Akira’s parents, how this _whole town_ can just ignore someone bleeding out like that.

“Yeah,” he says, and Akira’s eyes jerk up to his like he’d expected Ryuji to disagree with him. “Yeah dude, I don’t blame you.”

“I just - I thought it would be different,” Akira says in a rush, like he’s confessing a deep dark secret instead of something that’s blindingly obvious. “I thought - you know, sometimes I wake up at night and I don’t know what year it is, if I’m about to go to Tokyo or just coming back. Or if Tokyo was all a dream, and I’m stuck here forever in a town where no one will look at me.” He blinks fast and scrubs a hand over his eyes. “I don’t know what I expected but it wasn’t _this_ ; as if Shido confessing didn’t matter, as if _nothing_ we did mattered.”

“Hey.” Ryuji pushes himself up off the chair and closes the distance between them, dropping to his knees in front of Akira. He takes Akira’s wrists and pulls them apart so he can see Akira’s face. “It mattered. _You_ matter,” he emphasizes, because he might not be pulling the best grades but even he can see that’s what Akira isn’t saying. “You are the best goddamn person I’ve ever met, and if this shitty little town can’t see that -” _if your parents refuse to see that_ “- man, that’s their fuckin’ problem.”

Akira exhales. “I guess - I guess I just thought I could have both, you know.”

Ryuji does know. He’d felt the same way, about the track team; he’d been stuck in that cycle for so long, letting his past dictate his present. He hadn’t been able to move forward until he let it go. Until he’d met Akira.

Maybe Ryuji can return the favor.

“It’s not bad to miss somethin’ that’s gone,” he says. “But don’t - don’t let it chain you down, because you _will_ drown in it. And I’m here to tell you that this town? These people? They’re not worth it,” he says, rubbing his thumb over the inside of Akira’s wrist. “You deserve so much more.”

Akira smiles a little at that, but it’s shaky, and Ryuji can’t have that, can’t have Akira thinking that these people and their stupid fucking opinions mean _anything._

“Come back with me,” he says on impulse, and even as Akira’s eyes widen Ryuji knows it’s the right thing to say. “You deserve - man, you deserve to be with the people who love you, and that’s _us_.”

“Is it?” Akira say quietly, and Ryuji can hear the uncertainty in it.

“Of course it is,” he says just as quietly _._ “You have to know that by now.”

Akira looks so goddamned _hopeful_ , it breaks Ryuji’s heart.

“Of course I do,” Ryuji says, because he wants there to be no mistake about this - then he leans in to prove it.

Akira’s lips are still against his for a moment; then Akira’s kissing back fiercely, desperately, like he’s drowning and Ryuji is a lifeline. Something drips onto Ryuji’s cheek but Ryuji doesn’t pull back; he knows how hard it is to let go, to say goodbye, even when there’s something better waiting on the horizon.

Akira finally breaks on a gasp, resting his forehead against Ryuji’s. His eyes are closed and there are tear tracks down his cheeks, but he’s smiling, small and genuine.

“Okay,” he says, pulling his wrists out of Ryuji’s grasp only to lace their fingers together a second later. “I don’t know how we’re going to do this, but okay.”

Ryuji grins. “That’s never stopped us before.”

Akira laughs. “You’re not wrong,” he says, opening his eyes. “About any of it.”

He leans forward the few centimeters it takes to press his mouth against Ryuji’s again, and if the last kiss was _goodbye_ , this one is _hello._

“I love you, too,” Akira murmurs against Ryuji’s lips, sincere and _determined_. “Let’s go home."

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me at [ThirtySixSaveFiles](http://thirtysixsavefiles.tumblr.com) on Tumblr!


End file.
